


You and Your Husband

by mikaylamazing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Disputes, Everyone Thinks They're Together, First Kiss, Getting Together, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Finale, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26272498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaylamazing/pseuds/mikaylamazing
Summary: “I know how that is. Husbands: can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Mine’s the same way. Probably would’ve stormed out of here sooner than yours did.”Her words send Dean reeling, knocking the air out of him in a way strangers haven’t been able to do in a very long time. He can’t even find the words to correct her until she’s in the middle of another sentence.“He’s not my husband.” She blinks at him. “I mean, we aren’t even together. We’re just friends,” Dean clarifies. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why it sounds unbelievable to his own ears.---Five times Dean corrects someone about his relationship with Cas, and one time he realizes he doesn't need to.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 356
Kudos: 1272
Collections: gracefallenfavs





	1. 1. The Waitress

**Author's Note:**

> i was just gonna write this as a one shot but it started getting kinda unwieldy, so chapters it is. this is the first really fun fic idea i've had in a while, and i've enjoyed writing it a lot, so i hope it's also fun to read ;-;

Dean decides to break the silence.

“I think we handled that pretty well. Considering-” 

“Considering what, Dean? The fact that your brilliant plan to split up almost got you killed?” Cas speaks quietly so as to not be heard by the patrons of the diner, but Dean can still feel where the words jab at him like points of a knife. 

They’d figured they could manage this job on their own. Sam and Eileen were on the road, nearly a thousand miles away, and it was just one little ghost. Or it was  _ supposed  _ to be one little ghost. But even if it had been two or three little ghosts, they had taken on more with less experience than they have now. 

So maybe defeating literal God had made Dean arrogant, but he thinks it would have the same effect on anyone. Anyone but Cas.

Cas had been adamant about sticking together when Dean suggested searching different parts of the dilapidated house, his hand a firm grip around Dean’s wrist as he approached the front door. 

“We don’t know what we’re up against,” he’d said.

“Do we ever?” Dean replied, shrugging but keeping his arm at his side, not daring to move even a millimeter away. 

“I think it would be safer this way.” Dean had rolled his eyes at that, so of course Cas had to be right about it. “Besides, there could be other non-ghost dangers lurking about. Like rabid animals… or rusty nails.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I just got my tetanus booster a couple months ago.”

“It was your first in well over two decades. So no, it doesn’t make me feel better.” 

“Well I didn’t exactly need one back when God was keeping me perfect, did I?” Dean had joked, but he shook at the thought of being vulnerable enough to kill, for good this time. He was vulnerable to  _ milk  _ for fuck’s sake. Maybe Cas had a point about all that stuff, but he’d be damned if he was going to let him know that.

So after they had scoped out the living room and the kitchen, Dean took the second floor, while Cas took the basement - both of which made Cas even more wary.  _ Dean, this ceiling looks like it’s about to cave in. Maybe you shouldn’t go up there. _

The thing was, Cas was just as, if not more, vulnerable than Dean was. He’d never say it because he knows Cas hates thinking about it - being mortal and bereft of any powers outside of his very human body - but sometimes he wonders if Cas’s worry isn’t just a little misplaced. 

So the ghost had gotten one over on him; hidden in a closet that Dean was just about to check when he thought he’d heard Cas call out for help. All it took was one distracted second, Dean turning in the direction of Cas’s voice (actually just a ghost majorly fucking with him), and immediately being dragged backward. He’d hit his head against the doorframe on the way in, lost consciousness for a minute or two before Cas came to the rescue, handling both ghosts by himself. He hadn’t been able to recollect most of what had happened between that moment and the drive back to the motel, save for the choice words Cas had for him.

_ Has _ for him.

“I just wish you would think about these things before doing them, Dean,” he says in that disappointed tone of voice he usually reserves for Claire or Jack, sipping his coffee, too fast if the steam billowing out of the cup is anything to go by, but he doesn’t even flinch. He’s had four bites of his breakfast; Dean’s been counting. Sometimes when he’s upset Cas forgets to eat entirely, so Dean’s gotten in the habit of gently reminding him that he needs food to survive now. Mostly it’s fine, but sometimes it ends with Cas looking like he’s two seconds away from biting his head off. 

“I did think. I  _ thought _ it would go faster if we split up, and it did,” Dean says, almost instantly stuffing his mouth with the dry toast that’s been sitting like a disappointment on his plate. Anything to get him to just stop talking. 

He’s not sure what it is about these little arguments with Cas that makes them both so volatile; so ready to go off if the other’s word choice or intonation is wrong. More often than not, it ends in them not speaking for hours, neither of them ever really apologizing because they’re not even sure what they did wrong. 

Cas breathes a weak sigh. One that says “I’m tired and it’s unbelievable how much of a bastard you’re being right now,” but without all the words. One that Dean never heard before the whole God debacle.

“I don’t know why you do this.”

“Oh, you know, I just want it to be an extremely long drive home-”

“Well great, because that’s  _ exactly _ what you’re going to get,” Cas practically growls, taking time to gently fold a handful of dollar bills and placing them on the table to tip their waitress who had graciously avoided their argument after serving them. It softens the impact of him storming out to the car, but not by much. 

Their waitress carefully edges herself into Dean’s view, and more than anything he wants to assure her that he’s not about to snap at her. She walks, gait stiff and a grimace on her face that she’s desperately trying to transform into a hospitable smile. 

“Trouble in paradise?” she asks, an uncomfortable laugh punctuating the question.

“Just a little argument blown out of proportion,” Dean says, trying to laugh it off with her like they have some inside joke together. Despite having to force the levity he’s currently conveying, it seems to work as the waitress relaxes her stance, handing over the check.

“I know how that is. Husbands: can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Mine’s the same way. Probably would’ve stormed out of here sooner than yours did.”

Her words send Dean reeling, knocking the air out of him in a way strangers haven’t been able to do in a very long time. He can’t even find the words to correct her until she’s in the middle of another sentence.

“He’s not my husband.” She blinks at him. “I mean, we aren’t even together. We’re just friends,” Dean clarifies. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why it sounds unbelievable to his own ears. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry. My mistake. I just- nevermind. I can go run that if you’d like?” She makes a gesture at the credit card on the table. All Dean can do is nod as she scurries away to the point-of-sale system. Dean takes a moment to breathe, deeply through his nose. The waitress comes back, handing Dean his card and a receipt accompanied by another apology that he shrugs off as casually as he can manage. 

When he stands, he can see Cas through one of the windows, leaning against the impala and looking off into the distance. Brooding. Dean is about to roll his eyes when he looks down at the table one last time, eyes focusing on Cas’s plate of picked-at food. He stops the waitress before she can completely turn around. 

“Can we get this wrapped up to-go?” he asks, an uncomfortable burn settling into his skin and throat and stomach when he realizes he’s shifted back into the collective ‘we’ when Cas isn’t even there.

The waitress gives him a tiny nod and a smile.

“Sure thing, hun.”

When he gets back to the car it’s quiet and stagnant just as he thought it would be - just as he asked for. But an hour into the drive Dean hears it; not any words, but a sound from Cas. Dean can tell, even just out of his peripheral vision that he’s trying to pretend like it didn’t happen, but a few seconds later Cas’s stomach growls again. Dean clears his throat.

“Bag in the backseat. Has your food in it.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, scared that if he makes even a second of eye contact with Cas he’ll get defiant again. He needs to eat.

Cas grabs the bag without a word, opening the box and practically inhaling his food, licking his fingers clean when he’s done. When he speaks it’s almost too quiet for Dean to hear. 

“Thank you, Dean.” When Dean smiles it isn’t even a little sarcastic.

“No problem, Cas.”


	2. 2. The Therapist

They decide working cases by themselves is best left to rare, unavoidable occasions. So when Sam finds a job for them in Nebraska - one they can all take - Dean is loading up the car before Sam can even finish fleshing out the details. About fifty miles into the drive, Sam starts strategizing from the backseat, signing to Eileen like Dean and Cas aren’t even there. 

Dean can make out a few words here and there through the rearview window, but then Eileen laughs and it’s clear Sam is struggling to hold back his own. Dean breaks.

“Mind sharing with the rest of the class, Sam?” Cas is staring out the window as he often does on these drives, watching the trees and mile markers zoom by, looking completely unaware of the other people in the car.

“Well, Eileen and I were just thinking that since the incidents are isolated to a specific therapist’s office, it might help if we do some undercover work to lure out whatever’s doing the attacks.”

“Yeah, yeah, get to the funny part.”

“Well, she’s a couples therapist…” Sam trails off and Dean can no longer see his reflection in the mirror.

“So what, you two are gonna go in there and bait the thing? I don’t really like the sound of that idea.” More than that, Dean fails to see what about the plan is in any way funny. They had already lost Eileen once, and even though this… thing wasn’t killing people, Dean didn’t really want to take that chance. Eileen just doesn't have as much experience as the rest of them, plain and simple, and Dean would feel a lot better keeping her out of the direct line of fire. He thought Sam would too.

“Not us. You and Cas,” Sam says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world; like Dean is stupid for not realizing it on his own. His foot nearly slips off the gas pedal. Dean searches the archives of his brain for the words to say, but he comes up empty-handed.

“Dean and I aren’t a couple,” Cas says for him, completely level and still tracing the horizon with his eyes. 

“Since when is telling the truth an important part of this job? You guys are good actors, you can pull it off.” Sam sounds entirely too confident about something that could definitely blow up in their faces. Dean wishes he could have that kind of faith in himself. 

“Cas is the opposite of a good actor. Dude can’t lie to save his life,” Dean says, grateful for the upcoming fork in the road if only because it’s something to focus on other than their current conversation. 

“I would appreciate not being spoken about like I’m not currently in the car with you. And I’ve lied to you plenty of times and you were none the wiser,” Cas states matter-of-factly, tilting his body slightly but still not enough to look at Dean. Sam’s back in the rearview, his eyebrows raised in smug surprise.

“Gee, Cas, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” A stifling quiet settles over the car, but it doesn’t last long before Sam opens his mouth again.

“Besides, all of the targets have been couples who had argued during their session: attacked in the parking lot when they tried to leave.”  
“And your point is?”

“You and Cas argue a lot. Should come pretty easy.”

“We do _not_ argue a lot.”

“I’d beg to differ, Dean,” Cas intercepts.

“Of course you would. What’s new?” Dean throws back just as quickly

“Well, as it stands, we’re currently arguing about whether or not we argue excessively. I think Sam may have a point.”

“Don’t tell him that. He doesn’t need the ego boost.”

“I think it’s good to acknowledge when someone is right about something, but I guess that’s because my pride can handle it.”

“If there’s something you wanna say-”

“Alright, enough,” Sam finally cuts in, saving them from themselves, “Save it for the therapy session. Eileen and I will wait outside the building. Try to act natural when you walk out.” Sam calls to schedule their appointment, where there’s conveniently one open time slot for the day.

The remainder of the drive is near silent.

When they’re in Dr. Hale’s office, Dean doesn’t even have to try to fall into character. He and Cas argue about everything and nothing, only this time they’re in front of a complete stranger and are forced to look at each other. Dean feels like his face is getting progressively redder as their session goes on, and he’s lost count of all the times Cas has rolled his eyes. 

They both exhale for what seems like the first time when the doctor tells them their time is up. 

“That was a great starting point for your first session. Next week we can do more work on speaking in ‘I’ statements, but for now I’d like to conclude the session with some positive notes. So, take each other’s hands.” It’s a simple request, but they both stare at her like she’s speaking some inhuman language. She makes a wordless gesture and Dean releases a sigh from deep in his chest as he holds both of Cas’s hands loosely in his own. 

“Great, now I want you to give each other a reason for wanting to work this out. Why have you sought out counseling?” she asks, sincerity permeating every single word. Dean wants to laugh at the ruse they’ve commanded but when he thinks for a second, it’s a good question. Dean thinks he doesn’t know how to answer it, but then his mouth is moving on its own accord.

“You’ve been here for me through pretty much everything. Even when I didn’t really deserve it, and that matters to me. I want to be there for you, too, all the time. I don’t wanna lose you over something stupid.” The words come easily enough, but some still get caught in the back of his throat on the way out. He can feel the beginnings of stupid little tears forming in his eyes and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to swipe at them with the back of his hand. Cas looks at him, head tilted almost imperceptibly.

“Dean, you _are_ there for me. You’re one of the only people who’s ever made a conscious effort to understand me, and sometimes we argue or misinterpret each other, but you’re only human,” Cas hesitates for a moment, “We both are.” 

No matter how hard Dean tries, Cas won’t meet his eyes after that, looking to the corner of the room, and then Dr. Hale when they’re saying goodbye, but not at Dean. They walk out of her office, hands still clasped between them, with the empty promise to see her in a week.

“Your hand is sweaty,” Dean says. He doesn’t even _want_ to say it. Cas’s fingers unwind from where they had settled between Dean’s.

“I do not control the rate at which my glands secrete sweat,” Cas declares, factual, the way he speaks when he doesn’t want to convey any particular emotion, but Dean can see the way his ears go rosy as he wipes his palm against his leg.

“I was just pointing it out.”

“Yes, thank you, without your observation I would have never been aware-”

“Okay, we just got out of therapy. Don’t you think you could cool it for like two seconds?” Dean pleads, lowering his voice as they walk through the lobby, giving the receptionist a forced smile.

“You started it,” Cas counters, rolling his eyes _again._

“You know, going mortal has made you really childish,” Dean says when they’re out of earshot, holding the door open. For a second, Cas looks like he’s about to refuse to walk over the threshold.

“Good. Now you must know what it’s like to speak to you.” He begins walking faster, trying to put as much space between himself and Dean as possible when Dean sees it; out of the corner of his eye then right up behind Cas.

“Cas, watch-”

It flings Dean backward several meters before he can even finish thinking - because of course it does. When he hits the ground, he can literally feel in his bones that he’s too old to still be doing this. He doesn’t hit his head, thankfully, and when he looks up he sees Eileen slashing through the figure with an iron garden stake, watching it dissipate into the air.

“Dean, come on,” Sam urges, hauling him up despite the way his joints creak and left leg burns. 

“It’s a ghost? Another one?” Dean asks, from the backseat this time, Eileen checking his injuries and his pupils even though he’s 100% sure he didn’t hit his head. 

“And a pretty powerful one, it would appear,” Cas says, looking back at the scene as they peel out of the parking lot. 

“It looked like a kid.”

“Which narrows down the list of potential suspects. If we divide the research we can probably have it done tonight,” Sam asserts. 

It isn’t that easy. Not in the slightest. They run into dead end after dead end searching the town for any information, and after two days of nothing, Sam and Eileen decide to do their own undercover work, questioning all of the employees of the psychological clinic. 

It takes another day of piecing things together and staring at computer screens but when Dean finally gets it, he’s surprised at them all for overlooking such an obvious detail. Maybe they were _all_ getting a little rusty. 

It’s Dr. Hale’s son. Or it was. Difficult to pinpoint exactly due to a messy divorce in New York and a complete name change on the doctor’s part. Dean feels like a genius - and also pretty depressed - when he finds the article about the kid getting killed in a car accident going from his mom’s house to his dad’s. 

It’s as far as they get before they’re stuck again.

“I don’t understand the motive,” Eileen starts, “If it is Oliver, why doesn’t he go after his parents? It’s pretty clear he’s tied to Dr. Hale somehow. All the attacks have been her clients.”

Stranger things have happened in this line of work, but Dean’s not sure any case has been quite this puzzling before. They sit around some more, contacting upstate New York funeral homes until they find one that says they handled the kid back in ‘09: a cremation. 

“So she definitely has some part of him with her, probably in her office.” 

They’re half right. She’s got bits of his first haircut tucked away in the locket she wears everyday. It’s hard enough getting her to part with it, but it’s even harder when there’s a ghost wreaking havoc on Dean and Cas the entire time. When they finally manage to light the hair on fire, Dean just feels a little weird about the whole thing. 

He watches Cas hand the locket back to Dr. Hale, gently touching her shoulder before she cries into his. He holds her awkwardly.

“I don’t get it. Oliver’s ghost was clearly strong enough to end me so why didn’t he? It’s like he didn’t even try,” Dean says to Sam. Not that he wanted to be ended by a 4’1 kid ghost, but still, it doesn’t make any sense. Sam looks like he considers something he’s already thought about before.

“Did you know that some psychologists believe that two people undergoing a traumatic experience can bring them closer together?” Sam asks in a way that sounds leading, like he’s so clever when _Dean’s_ the one who figured this whole thing out.

“No, Dr. Phil. I didn’t know that. Don’t tell me that you think that’s a good thing,” Dean counters. Sam rolls his eyes. Dean’s been on the receiving end of that from everyone these days.

“Of course not, and it’s not a solution to anything. It’s like putting a bandaid over a gunshot wound at best. But what if Oliver thought he was helping all these people?”

“Bit of a stretch, don’t you think? What 8-year-old is reading _Psychology Today_?”

“The first set of victims we wrote off completely said they heard a loud voice tell them ‘quit fighting’. Do you think that’s just a coincidence?” Sam offers, continuing when Dean still looks skeptical, “He was a child of divorce and he’s spent the last ten years wandering the veil, watching couples walk in and out with the same issues his parents probably had. If you think that’s a stretch then I’d love to hear what you’ve got.”

Dean doesn’t have anything. And when he thinks about what Oliver was trying to do, even in death, it makes him sadder. 

“I think Dr. Hale is going to be okay, though she did have a lot of questions that I had a very difficult time answering,” Cas says, breathing like the conversation alone winded him.

“I’ve got it.” Dean usually isn’t up for doing any of the comforting - he thinks Sam is way better at it - but he has to get away from the people who know him right now.

“Sorry you had to find out about all of this,” he says as an opener, not wanting to bring up her dead son if she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“About what? The fact that ghosts exist and people impersonate FBI agents in order to hunt them? That’s just a normal Thursday afternoon,” Dr. Hale jokes, which Dean is grateful for. It means Cas already did all the heavy lifting. 

“We also now impersonate married couples, apparently. We’ve been doing this for a long time, but that’s a new one,” Dean laughs, but it’s strained. He’s not sure why he has to clarify to an all but complete stranger that he and Cas are not married. Ideally, they’ll never see this woman again.

He looks across the way at Cas, just to make sure he can’t hear any of what Dean is saying, briefly watches him sign with Eileen at a speed too quick for Sam to keep up. When he looks back at Dr. Hale she’s smiling at him.

“You certainly had me fooled. All four of you.” The second statement feels tacked on, like she knows _he_ needs it to be okay. Dean laughs. What a therapist. 

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, I just- my son? Is he…?” 

“He’s in a better place. And he knows that you love him.” For the first time in a long time, those lines feel like the truth and not just a way to make his job easier. 

“Thank you, and good luck.” Dean doesn’t ask what she means by that.

They start the drive back home, Dean back in the driver’s seat, Cas in the passenger, and Sam and Eileen passed out in the back, her head on his shoulder. They’re so sweet Dean would hate them if he didn’t know them. 

“Can we stop two exits from here?” Cas asks, breaking Dean free from his own wandering thoughts. He glances at the fuel gauge. They can make it all the way back to Lebanon without needing to stop.

“For what?” 

“There’s a Starbucks.”

“We have coffee at home, Cas.”

“I don’t _like_ that coffee. It tastes putrid and I don’t know how you drink it on a daily basis. I’ve told you this before.” Dean tries his best not to be offended on behalf of his very good (very expensive) coffee.

“The stuff you drink isn’t coffee, it’s high blood sugar in a cup.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to stop?” Dean doesn’t respond. Cas slumps back, crosses his arms over his chest and everything. Dean can’t take his eyes off the road long enough to see his face but he wouldn’t be surprised if Cas was literally pouting. It shouldn’t get to him the way it does.

He can’t keep his eyes off Cas as he happily walks through the front door, making the girl at the counter laugh as he gestures out the window to the car. He walks out with a monstrosity of a blended drink, topped high with whipped cream and caramel. 

“You sure you have enough there, Cas?” Dean asks, only because Cas has been getting better at detecting sarcasm.

“I got it so we could share.”

“Don’t need any of that,” he says, backing out and getting back on the freeway.

“Okay, Dean.” 

So maybe he takes _one_ sip, but that’s _it._


	3. 3. The Barista(s)

There isn’t a single Starbucks within an hour’s drive from the bunker in any direction. Dean knows this because Cas checked the store locator five times before finally concluding that the internet probably wasn’t lying about it.

“They want you to give them your money, Cas. There’s no benefit to them lying,” Dean had explained after the first time. Clearly, in Cas’s eyes, he also wasn’t a trustworthy source on the topic. Cas slumped in his chair and stared at the computer screen, like if he thought about it hard enough he’d manifest a Starbucks in the middle of Lebanon. 

It’s like Cas’s new addiction, and he keeps his eyes peeled for the green and white logo everywhere they go. 

It had started with ‘Dean, can we stop?’ which eventually shortened to just ‘Dean?’ and now all Cas has to do is give a gentle tug to Dean’s sleeve and he knows to watch out for the signage. He hasn’t been able to say no once. Sam and Eileen make fun of him relentlessly, and it might be annoying as hell, but he can’t even blame them. 

“You’re actually whipped,” Sam had said on the way back from a hunt, the impala idling in the parking lot, Eileen watching him and then directing her attention to Dean’s reflection for a reaction. He’d lowered his head, shaking it, in denial, but his words came out shakier than he’d wanted. He missed the days where he and Sam just didn’t acknowledge each other’s emotional states.

“That isn’t- That’s not how this works,” was all he could come up with, biting his tongue to stop from saying more, and desperately wishing for the conversation to end before Cas came back.

“Yeah, it is,” Eileen replied anyway. Dean turned around so fast, he’s still not sure he didn’t pull something. 

“How did you-”

“Magic,” Eileen said in a deadpan, Sam barely managing to tamp down a laugh.

“Or you’re just predictable,” Sam added. He laced their fingers together for literally no reason but to do it, and Dean had that feeling again. That  _ ugh  _ feeling even though he really was happy for them. But  _ ugh _ . 

“If avoiding arguments makes me predictable then call me Mr. Predictable,” Dean says, and it’s true. Despite how often it happens, Dean knows neither one of them  _ enjoy  _ arguing with each other, it just kind of conspires on it’s own; sneaks up behind them when they’re both exhausted or anxious. And why should Dean argue over some small thing that makes Cas happy? He’s not an asshole despite the reputation that precedes him in certain circles. 

“You two never used to fight like this. What even happened?” Sam asks, and really, Dean wishes he had an answer.

“We’ve fought before.”

“Yeah, but not over stupid, inconsequential decisions.”

“He just needs to get used to being human,” Dean concludes, but he knows that isn’t quite right, that it’s only a small part of a much larger set of things that need to happen.

“He’s been human before, Dean. I think you should-”

“Okay, can we finish this when Cas  _ isn’t  _ quickly approaching the car, please?” But Dean doesn’t plan on talking about it again if he can help it. 

Dean thinks it’s because they have too much free time. Hunts aren’t nearly as frequent as they used to be and they’re all about a million times easier with Cas and Eileen on the job. They’re just restless, trying to get used to living life at a lower speed, but Sam seems to have his own opinions that he refuses to spell out for Dean. Whatever, Dean doesn’t  _ need  _ his little brother’s input. 

They all laze around the bunker for a few days, watching movies and playing board games. And while they may not have a perfect, immaculate Starbucks for Cas, the cold of late December begins settling in and Dean figures it wouldn’t hurt to get him acquainted with the coffee shop in town. Cas would just have to make do. 

And he does. With hot chocolate. 

“You know that’s something we could make here ourselves, right?” Dean asks, genuinely not trying to start anything, just bringing to Cas’s attention that he could be having it easily from the comfort of their home if he wanted. He watches Cas take a delicate sip, closing his eyes like it’s transporting him far away from Dean’s questions.

“This is different. I don’t know what Nathan and Vanessa’s secret is but this,” Cas takes another sip, “I can feel it here,” he nearly whispers, rubbing a hand over the center of his chest. “It’s very nice.” 

Dean just stares in a mixture of confusion and something else he can’t (or won’t) identify at the moment. Cas is straight up reverent over a $1.99 cup of hot chocolate, so much that they end up at the shop nearly every other day until Dean tells Cas he seriously needs to think about his sugar intake, making the suggestion in the gentlest voice he can manage. Cas’s eyes are still like daggers stabbing and twisting into Dean’s, and Dean puts his hands up in defense.

“I just want you to be around a long time, man. Hard to do that with inflamed arteries and heart palpitations.” He means for it to sound like a joke, but they’re so far beyond joking at this point that it sounds like Dean’s seconds away from rushing him to the nearest hospital. The overt sincerity isn’t lost on Cas as he forcefully focuses back on his cup, pink washing over his cheeks like a greeting card cherub. 

“You of all people should not be lecturing others about arterial health,” Cas fights, but it lacks the usual bite of his rebuttals. It actually makes Dean smile a little. 

“Well, what can I say? Self-preservation’s never really been my style.” It’s also not a joke but Dean says it with as much levity as a person who’s been programmed to care for others before himself can manage. Old habits die hard, and this is about the oldest habit he has. 

“Then I guess you’re going to have to work on that because I want you to be around a long time, too,” Cas says, daring to look at Dean, but quickly focusing back on the paper cup in his hands. It’s been like that ever since Cas made the full switch, like being human also finally made him aware of just how tense his years of unwavering eye contact have been. Still, Dean kind of misses it. 

It’s a week after New Year’s Day when Sam and Eileen decide they’ve had enough of the windowless bunker walls (and of Dean and Cas, but that goes unsaid). 

“There hasn’t even been a hint of a case in almost four weeks, not even any vague ‘sounds like nothing, but sure, we can check it out’ news. This is just how it’s going to be now,” Sam defends, but Dean wasn’t even going to argue. They all deserve to get out  _ and  _ to get comfortable with just living. For the first time ever. It makes Dean a little uncomfortable to think about, like he’ll never know what to do with himself, but he’s not going to let his own mental roadblock stop Sam and Eileen from enjoying themselves. 

“It’s a good idea. You two deserve some quality alone time; might jumpstart that proposal you’ve been thinking about.” Sam looks affronted at that, and it takes everything in Dean not to accidentally snort the sip of coffee he just took. He’s still not over the trauma of the last time it had happened. 

“I am  _ not  _ thinking about that.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“I’m  _ not, _ ” Sam insists. And Dean knows he isn’t planning on actually getting down on one knee any time soon, but for a genius, Sam is remarkably bad at clearing his own search history. Dean had seen the pages among pages of engagement rings during one of his fruitless searches for a case a few days ago. 

“Whatever. I’m just glad you’ll be in love somewhere else. You know, not in front of my eyes,” Dean says, taking his coffee mug to the sink. 

“Right,” Sam says in a voice Dean doesn’t like. “You and Cas should think about leaving for a while, too. There are other hunters manning the area, and you two could use some fresh air.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

So, of course, Dean approaches Cas the second his brother is gone. 

“You know what I realized? You’ve been around for what, a billion years? But I’d be willing to bet you’ve never been on a vacation,” Dean springs with not a bit of preamble, startling Cas if his shoulder flinch is anything to go by. He settles back into his chair and looks at Dean skeptically. 

“A billion and one, actually,” Cas snarks. Dean still can’t decide if his newfound appreciation for sarcasm is the best or the worst, but the wry comment only serves to remind Dean that they need to figure out a birthday for Cas. It seems unfair that he’s the only one without one. 

“Yes, exactly. We should go out,” Dean enthuses, taking ahold of Cas’s wrist and keeping it there despite all the stupid voices in his head telling him to let go. “I mean, we should go somewhere. Just to get away for a bit.”

“We could go to Starbucks,” Cas suggests, suddenly a lot less skeptical and a lot more excited, looking like he’s about to run out to the car right there and then. 

“You do know what a vacation is, right?”

“Of course I do. It’s when you do fun things away from your home. I’ll start packing.” Dean watches him practically run down the hallway with the biggest smile he’s ever seen.

They do go to Starbucks; the original one in Seattle with the unimpressive storefront and the mile-long line out the door. Cas takes a million pictures like the tourist he is, including an odd shot or two of Dean’s profile, which Dean pretends to be annoyed by even though he can barely stop smiling after the first one.

The air is more than a little brisk and Dean can see the way Cas tries to stop his body from shaking. It results in a cartoonish bout of teeth chattering and Dean wants to roll his eyes, but to his own horror, in a completely loving and adoring way. Whatever.

“Ah, harsh reminder that we’re in Washington state in the middle of January, isn’t it, Mr. I-Don’t-Need-A-Heavier-Coat?” Dean asks, taking in the displeasure and misdirected anger on Cas’s face for only a second before he begins pulling off his own coat. He’s abruptly stopped by a hand clamped to his elbow.

“What are you doing? You’ll freeze out here,” Cas states, like it’s a fact with no room for dispute. Dean eyes the people in front of them. 

“Line’s moving pretty fast, I doubt I’ll freeze,” Dean assesses, carefully prying Cas’s fingers from his arm, holding them for a brief second before he resumes the removal of his coat, draping it over Cas’s shoulders and trying really hard not to think about how it might look. The strangers surrounding them are here for a mediocre cup of coffee and pictures for their instagram, not to gawk at the people next to them in line. 

The line continues to move at a constant pace and Dean’s fingers barely have time to start going numb before they enter the warmth of the shop.

It isn’t much to write home about, and Dean has the feeling Cas thinks the same, even if he won’t admit it. It’s crowded, and hectic, and cups literally fly through the air and Dean knows Cas well enough to know it’s the opposite of what he normally enjoys. Though he is still more than a little excited to add the Pike Place mug to the collection he’d started at Sam’s suggestion. He holds it on his lap the entire way back to their hotel. 

The rest of their vacation consists of a lot of walking - indoors for Cas’s sake. Dean finds some new vinyl and Cas gets organic soap. It’s fun, but it isn’t more than a handful of days before Dean realizes they’re both running on empty when it comes to social interaction. Dean loves spending time with Cas, but being around so many other people has clearly taken its toll on them. 

So they head home earlier than expected, but it means they can take the scenic route, stopping whenever Cas wants to take pictures of the horizon or a barren wheat field, and on one occasion, a lone evergreen tree, slightly crooked and probably 100 years old if the height is any indicator.

“It reminds me of you,” is all Cas says when he looks at the picture on his phone screen. 

Because it can’t be helped, they stop at a Starbucks in Twin Falls, Idaho. Both of them go inside to take a break from the road, figuring they’ll find somewhere to stay in Wyoming and finish the trip back to Lebanon the next day. 

“Why don’t you go sit down; find and book a place to stay and I’ll order for both of us,” Dean suggests, preemptively taking out his wallet and gesturing to the only empty table at the far side of the store. Cas hesitates and narrows his eyes at him.

“Do you know what to get?”

“Yes, Cas, I know what to get.” And either Cas really trusts him or he’s getting self-conscious about potentially holding up the line. Cas retreats to the table and as Dean waits to approach the register, he looks at the display shelf of Starbucks-branded mugs and tumblers. 

Dean has common sense. He knows a cash grab when he sees one; knows they’re all overpriced hunks of plastic and ceramic. But the look on Cas’s face when he holds one in his hands - careful like he thinks they’ll disintegrate if he breathes too heavily - sparks a warmth in Dean’s chest that can’t be rivaled by any cup of coffee. He picks up one of the Idaho cups, positive Cas doesn’t have one yet, before he’s distracted by the row of pink and red below it. 

He lets three people cut him in line before he settles on one: a short glass mug, completely unassuming and boring with the exception of the handle, hollow and full of heart-shaped confetti. It’s just a little tacky and Dean kinda hates how he’s being forced to think about Valentine’s Day in January, but...

He swipes it before he can second guess his actions and approaches the counter, rattling off Cas’s nonsensical order from memory. The kid at the register gives him a wide-eyed look as he punches in all the details. 

“It’s your heart attack.”

“Oh, it’s not mine. Trust me,” Dean says, giving a cursory glance back at Cas who looks up just in time to give Dean a smile before going back to his phone. The kid - Tyler, his hideously handwritten name tag says - looks between the two of them with raised eyebrows. Dean doesn’t care for it.

“Anything else?” 

“Just a plain coffee. Oh, and these,” he says, settling the mugs on the counter and wiping his now sweaty palms against his jeans. Despite his attitude, Tyler quirks a smile.

“Pretty sweet. I’m sure he’ll love it,” Tyler says, scanning both and putting them into a bag. And if Dean can’t get control over his emotions he’d at least like to control his dumbass reactions to them. He was getting real tired of going red-faced in front of random people who pretend like they know him. 

“It’s not  _ for  _ him. It’s just- It’s not like that,” Dean flails, as he takes the bag from the counter.

“Right,” Tyler nods at him. “I can help the next in line.” And that’s that. 

Dean waits a minute for Cas’s drink, finally joining him at the tiny table shoved in the corner.

“What took you so long?” Cas asks, grabbing the cup and straw from Dean’s hand before he can even think for a second. Dean pointedly doesn’t think about the way their fingers touched for half a second. 

For a moment, Dean considers not bringing up the mugs at all; to pretend like the bag sitting at their feet just doesn’t exist. But it’s not like Cas would play along and besides, he kind of wants to see Cas’s sweet, awestruck eyes.

“Just getting these,” Dean says, gently placing the bag between their drinks. The ‘for you’ at the end of the sentence goes without saying. 

Cas obviously loves the Idaho mug, probably more than anyone else who’s owned the same mug combined, but it’s nothing compared to the way he reacts to the second. 

“What’s this?” Cas asks. As much as a part of Dean wants to respond with something like ‘It’s pretty obviously a mug, Cas,’ it’s overpowered by the part of him that doesn’t even know what sarcasm is at the moment.

“I don’t know. I thought you would like it,” is all he can say. Not ‘It reminded me of you,’ and definitely not ‘I love you,’ but he can feel both bubbling up inside him anyway. He figures it’s only a matter of time before he can no longer keep it down. Cas runs his fingers along the curve of the handle, shakes the whole thing very gently, just to see the confetti move. 

“I do like it. A lot. Thank you, Dean,” Cas almost whispers, but he’s still looking at the mug and not at Dean. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean argues, against his own belief that it is, in fact, a pretty big deal. “I mean, it’s not like money means anything to us anymore.” Cas considers that.

“No, it doesn’t, but I suppose like everything else we do for each other, it’s the thought that counts,” Cas asserts, finally looking at Dean directly, effectively liquifying his internal organs into a hot soup. Dean nearly chokes.

“Yeah, man, I mean, whatever.” 

They sit and sip their drinks until their cups are empty and when they walk out Dean holds the door  _ and  _ places a hand on the small of Cas’s back and he really doesn’t have time to analyze it. _ The road commands all of my attention _ , he lies to himself. 

When they approach Lebanon the next day Dean feels the tug on his sleeve.

“Can we stop for hot chocolate?” Dean is so far past saying no. Maybe he  _ is  _ whipped, but that’s his business, not Sam’s. 

It turns out the hot chocolate is actually a cover for an ulterior motive.

“This cup, please,” Cas says, placing the transparent mug on the counter. Vanessa looks at it skeptically for a moment, then looks up at Dean and he feels like he has a neon sign hanging over his head saying ‘I bought him that! I got it because I love him.’

Vanessa spares him. 

“I can’t believe you’re cheating on us with Starbucks of all places,” she says, taking the mug anyway and winking at Cas.

“Not for hot chocolate. I could never,” Cas reassures her. It brings a genuine wide smile to her face. Dean’s noticed that Cas has that effect on people. 

They sit inside for the first time, Cas drinking like it’s healing him from the inside out and Dean just staring at him.

“Dean, are you okay? You haven’t even touched your coffee yet.” Dean startles.

“No, yeah. Everything’s fine.” He takes a swig, ignoring the way it burns his mouth and doubly ignoring how difficult it is for him to swallow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mug Dean gets for Cas is a real Starbucks mug that I really wanted and didn't get so I'm living vicariously through Cas by writing this.


	4. 4. The Photographers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas go to the Grand Canyon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update is super late bc life is overwhelming and being an american is also overwhelming. hope this was worth the wait 😔

The little trips happen more often as time goes on, but neither of them ever talk about it. They don’t ask each other questions or make plans ahead of time, but sometimes they look at each other in a way that Dean can’t describe, and within the hour they have packed bags and snacks to last the first couple hours of driving, at least. 

Sometimes they drive aimlessly, heading down random off-ramps and traversing secluded side streets, Cas always on the lookout for the most obscure street names (they had both given reasonable chuckles at Psycho Path in Michigan) and small diners and bars. But sometimes one of them will make a suggestion early in the drive, depending on the direction they were headed in, opting to follow the road signs until they reached their destination. That was often easier said than done, but then again, what isn’t? After twenty minutes of driving in silence - and in circles - Cas cleared his throat.

“Maybe I should look up-”

“No. You don’t need to do that. I have it under control,” Dean says, right before making his fourth U-turn of the afternoon. 

“Okay. I’m just saying that perhaps your sense of direction isn’t as perfect as you think it is,” Cas nearly whispers, not wanting to start an argument. He just wants to see the Grand Canyon before nightfall.

“My sense of direction is just fine, thanks. I’ll have us where we’re supposed to be in no time.” And he eventually does, though Cas  _ does _ have Google Maps open the whole time, just in case he needs to make a conveniently-timed suggestion about which way to turn. Once they’ve successfully made their way back to the freeway, it’s only a matter of time before they make it to the south rim of the canyon, later than expected. Cas finds he really doesn’t mind once he feels the rays of the sun on his face and the gentlest breeze whispering through his hair - a little long, curling at his neck and ears because he still doesn’t quite trust the concept of allowing a stranger near your neck with sharp objects. It just doesn’t sound safe or necessary for the time being. 

“Is there a reason you wanted to see the Grand Canyon specifically? I mean, it’s just a giant hole in the ground, right?” Dean asks, grabbing their bag of water, snacks, and an extra jacket for Cas, just in case. They obviously weren’t going to be doing any hiking given the time of day and the state of his knees after hours of nonstop driving, but Dean wanted to spend enough time there to feel like it wasn’t a complete waste of a day (his fault, even if he’s not willing to admit it out loud). And so what if Dean specifically prepared this stuff for Cas and Cas alone? He was not about to let the guy shiver and whine himself back to the car prematurely.

“I had planned to see it years ago, but… something came up. And then more things came up and never stopped coming up. Until today. I figured it would be foolish to ignore the opportunity now that it’s arisen. And it is the  _ Grand  _ Canyon; that means it’s more impressive than other canyons.”

It  _ is  _ more impressive than other canyons, and Dean resents himself for it, but he finds that he has to try extremely hard not to shed tears over the thing.  _ A giant hole in the ground _ that’s just another  _ miracle of God,  _ but even his hatred of Chuck can’t overshadow the way his heart slows, or how he can hear every sound in the world at once. A burst of energy travels from his heels and up his spine until he can feel tears prickling in his eyes. 

The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, the orange light making the reds of the canyon walls even brighter, and despite having brought Cas’s camera, Dean has the feeling that any photo would be an inadequate representation of what he’s currently seeing. 

“I thought that I understood before, when I was following orders. I thought that no one could ever understand and appreciate the beauty of God’s work more than his most loyal followers. But now I know that blind faith doesn’t allow one to truly see something for what it is. It only muddied the waters; forced us to see what he wanted us to see, nothing more.” 

Dean goes silent for a moment, not because he doesn’t understand, but because he doesn’t know how to add to any of that. Dean may not have been an angel for thousands of years like Cas was, but Dean knows what he’s talking about. They went through the same thing. The conversation felt right for where they stood, and yet, all Dean manages to respond with is “That’s pretty heavy.”

He curses himself internally, squeezing his eyes shut like it’ll let him have another chance to say the right thing, even if he’s not sure that there is such a thing. 

“I suppose it was. And you don’t really realize just how heavy until the weight has been lifted. Things are still confusing and complex, but the way that I feel about it all is much simpler. Is it the same for you?” 

When Cas asks he finally diverts his gaze away from the crags and ridges of the canyon, looking to Dean. Dean can feel his eyes focused on the side of his face, wishing for Dean to look his way, but not commanding his attention. And even though he’s terrified of what Cas might see, Dean meets his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess it is. It’s nice to know that my feelings are  _ my  _ feelings. Sometimes I still don’t like them, but at least that’s all on me now,” Dean says, swallowing the nerves he knows are unnecessary. 

“Did they change? After Chuck?” It’s admittedly not something Dean really thought about. There had been so much more at stake than his emotions that he sort of just swept that part of the equation under the rug and focused on making sure the world didn’t implode. 

“Not really. I think I feel some things more strongly than I did before but I think that has less to do with Chuck and more to do with the fact that we’re all still alive somehow.”

“You care more. I can tell.” Dean blushes and he’s not sure if it’s from the words themselves or the surety of Cas’s voice. For a second, Dean thinks about denying it, but quickly ends that train of thought. There’s only a sparse handful of people in this world who have ever taken the time to try to understand Dean. He figures the least he can do is not lie to them.

“Yeah, but don’t tell anybody,” he opts for, which still isn’t ideal, but he’s trying. He can only be so vulnerable at once before his hard-wired dread starts to settle in. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” Cas assures him, joking and sincere in a way that only Cas can manage. They stay in that spot for another two hours, exchanging words every once in a while, and Cas snapping the occasional photo, but mostly basking in the true silence neither of them had really experienced before. When pinpricks of stars dot the sky, the sun long gone, Cas sighs, standing just a little closer to Dean.

“It’s nice. Looking at pretty things,” he says, so factual that Dean can’t help but laugh. It makes him want to lace their fingers together and never let go, and  _ that  _ makes him feel like he needs to scream. He doesn’t do either of those things.

“Yeah, Cas, I’d say that’s likely a universal sentiment,” Dean teases, but then he can’t stop staring at Cas and it suddenly feels very pointed and meaningful as they both just stand there looking at each other. Dean has to fake a cough just to feel like he can break free of it. 

They head back to the car, Dean congratulating Cas for not complaining about the cold once, and Cas rolls his eyes. When they find a hotel with empty rooms (a miracle considering all of the hotels closest to the canyon are usually booked months in advance) they only have standard rooms available, which means they end up having to share a bed that’s a little too small for two men of their size. They hit each other a handful of times, but Dean doesn’t even have time to freak out over any of it because his exhaustion knocks him out for a solid 12 hours.

And when he wakes up he doesn’t move or say a word about the way Cas’s arm winds around his waist, his hand splayed over Dean’s chest. Neither of them acknowledge it, getting out of bed, showering, and getting breakfast as if the night had never even happened. 

They decide to go back to the canyon, at Cas’s request for more photos in daylight, and Dean’s given up on even thinking he can say no to anything Cas asks at this point. When they’re back in the parking lot, Cas bounds out of the car before they even come to a complete stop, running toward the viewpoint railing with nothing but his camera. 

“Cas, you’re- could you wait a second?” Dean calls after him, trying to catch up, but it’s futile. He figures it’ll be okay as long as Cas stays where he is and doesn’t try to venture off into the more dangerous, fall-to-your-death areas.

“You try telling him the Grand Canyon isn’t leaving any time soon?” a voice asks from behind Dean. The guy laughs like they’re friends with some inside joke, even though Dean flinched at hearing himself be indirectly addressed. He shakes it off and tries his best to act like a normal person, though he’s not completely sure what that even means anymore.

“Somehow I think that would go over his head. He’s kinda… literal.”

“And excited. I’m David. This your first time here?” the guy asks, extending his hand toward Dean. Despite feeling mildly threatened and worried about Cas, he knows that this is something normal people do. They talk to other people who are being nice. He keeps his eyes on Cas as he answers.

“Dean. We came out yesterday, but we were kinda late. Cas wanted the full experience,” Dean says, just as Cas peers over the edge of the viewpoint, leaning over the railing ever so slightly to take a photo. It’s enough to have Dean’s heart racing, ready to run over and pull him back but it’s only a second before Cas steps back on his own, looking down at the screen of the camera and shielding it from the sun. 

“But you’ve had enough of the experience?” David asks, and Dean thinks that’s not it. It’s not like he hates the Grand Canyon or anything. Cas is just a little hard to keep up with sometimes. 

“Sometimes I just gotta let him do his own thing, and he can just tell me about it later,” Dean says because it’s true. Sometimes Dean doesn’t even know what Cas is talking about because he retained his encyclopedic angel knowledge, but hearing him rave about any number of subjects never failed to bring a smile to Dean’s face. 

“I feel that. My fiancé’s a wildlife and landscape photographer, identifying birds and bugs for a living. We’re around the area three or four times a year, and I understand none of it,” he says, all with a smile on his face. Somehow it never even occurred to Dean that there are people out there whose entire jobs are things Cas just enjoys doing as hobbies.

“Man, that would be like Cas’s dream job. Or one of them at least.”

“I mean, they found each other without our help, so I probably could’ve guessed.” When Dean follows David’s gaze, he sees Cas in rapt conversation with a man who towers over him, both of them periodically gesturing to their cameras. 

Dean has to control his facial expression, because he isn’t stupid, but he just can’t believe-

“I know, right? Wasted potential out here with nature instead of on the basketball court. It’s all he’s heard his whole life, but Brian’s got two left feet, he’d never survive out there,” David says, teasing but Dean can hear the love that saturates his voice. Dean clears his throat.

“I think cliffsides are just a little more dangerous than professional sports,” Dean says, laughing to hide his own surprise.

“Well, that’s why I’m here; to make sure he doesn’t become a Grand Canyon statistic. I assume we have pretty similar roles here.” 

Dean can’t deny that. Cas is so unintentionally reckless that he genuinely doesn’t know how Cas can manage to be worried about  _ him  _ when they enter foreclosed buildings. 

“So how long have you two been together?” David asks, and Dean nearly says twelve years before he understands what David is asking and nearly chokes.

“Me and Cas? We’re not. He’s my best friend, and that’s it,” Dean says, but it sounds stiff and defensive, and he feels like he’s losing, to himself more than anyone. David just looks at him, his jaw dropped and eyebrows pulled together, and now Dean doesn’t feel so bad about his own face.

“But you’re planning on telling him soon, right?” 

“Telling him what?” Dean asks, and yes, maybe he’s playing dumb, but he’s not ready to face whatever is currently being asked of him, regardless of how vague the question is.

It ends there as Cas and Brian both approach, a waterfall of sounds that Dean can’t comprehend immediately spilling from Cas’s mouth. 

“Look at her,” Cas finally says, bringing the camera closer to Dean. At first, Dean doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be looking at but then he sees it: the glossy eye of a sand-colored toad, blending in with a small grouping of rocks. Dean can’t help the smile that creeps over his face.

“It looks like you,” Dean says, poking Cas’s side until he swats his hand away, looking back at the camera with squinted eyes.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You make that face all the time.” Cas glares at him for a moment, but quickly changes paths. 

“I asked Brian if he could take a picture of us at the viewpoint. He’s very good with a camera,” Cas says, dragging Dean along in his excitement. Dean is lost for words, David still looking at him like he’s the saddest thing he’s seen in a while. But he didn’t see Dean from a year ago, so what does he know?  
They take the photo, and talk for a few more minutes before Brian has to move on. He hands Cas a business card before they leave, talking about a potential collaboration between the two of them in the future. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so excited to work when they don’t have to. 

“They were so nice. We should talk to people more often,” Cas says. They’re sitting on a rock, Cas watching the clouds move and Dean scanning through Cas’s photos until he gets to their photo. He looks at Cas’s goofy posed smile and can feel a warmth in his chest start to spread. 

“Yeah, we could do that.” 


	5. 5. The Waitress, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas surprises Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to say, these are not the circumstances under which i wanted to add the 'canon divergence' tag to this fic. hope y'all are healing after that finale.

It’s Cas’s turn to pick the restaurant. They’ve been having a relatively easy time taking turns, whether they’re back at the bunker or on the road, even when Cas insists on going to some Chuck E. Cheese-adjacent establishment, dropping hundreds on arcade games to win prizes they could just as easily buy from the dollar store. 

_ “You’re spending all of our money.” _

_ “We have unlimited money. How could I possibly be spending it all?”  _

The conversation had happened in front of the only operating skee-ball machine in the whole arcade, the rest offering nothing but darkened LED displays or jammed ticket dispensers. He’d started feeling just a little self-conscious as he saw a small line begin to form behind Cas, mostly consisting of children. 

_ “What I meant to say is… aren’t you hungry? We’ve been at this for a couple hours now. It’s about time for mediocre pizza, don’t you think?” _

Cas threw his last ball, sinking it into the 50-point ring before bending down and retrieving the pile of tickets that had accumulated over his many, many rounds, folding them up neatly and placing them in Dean’s hand.

_ “You know, you don’t have to stick around me the whole time, Dean. You should try having fun.”  _

Dean hadn’t known how to respond to that. A lot of things came to mind, but none of them felt right when he thought about actually saying them out loud.  _ Actually, I  _ do  _ have to stick around. I don’t trust anyone. Something could happen to you while I’m gone.  _ He’d been working diligently at not treating Cas like he’s incapable of taking care of himself. Dean was well-aware of the fact that Cas could take on pretty much any threat thrown his way, and yet, he found himself unable to quell the surges of overprotectiveness that would overcome his entire being when he least expected it. 

_ I  _ am  _ having fun, just being with you.  _ That one was almost worse. It wouldn’t start a fight the way the former would, but it would raise too many questions. Cas would poke at him, completely unaware of the implications at first, but then Dean’s face would spell it out very obviously, hot and uncomfortable because he hasn’t been able to control it for months now. Every time, Dean thinks that’s it, that it’s finally the day that Cas  _ gets it,  _ gets awkward and closed-off as he tries to figure out a way to let Dean down easily.

And it’s not even that Dean necessarily has reasons for thinking that’s how it’ll all play out; he hasn’t seen any indication one way or the other. But he’s unbelievably afraid that he’s going to ruin the only real thing he has left in his life, and he’s not sure he’d be able to cope with losing Cas. Again. Dean doesn’t think Cas would up and leave him over it, but if they had to change anything about the way they are around each other, he’s not sure he’d be able to take it. 

He’d shaken his head, tilted the big cup in his hand until tiny, metallic clinks sounded from the opening.

_ “You telling me you’d be willing to carry your own tokens and tickets?” _

He did that a lot, responding in such a way as to throw the ball back into Cas’s court. He could only hope that it wasn’t coming across as evasive, even though he knew it was. 

Cas seemed to think for a moment, biting his lip as he pondered that, sitting at an empty table.

_ “I wouldn’t mind if it meant that you were enjoying yourself. I know we’re only here because we agreed to honor each other’s restaurant choices, but I  _ do  _ want you to at least try having a good time while we’re here.”  _

And there it was: ball, back in his court. Cas had been remarkably good at doing that for the past couple months, and Dean wanted to hate him for it, but he knew Cas wasn’t even doing it on purpose. It’s just who he’s come to be as a human. 

Dean didn’t hate arcades. It was a little lie he’d come up with to avoid leaving Cas’s side the first time they did this. He’d said they were too loud and crowded, and even though bars have significant overlap in those categories, Cas hadn’t questioned it at all, and instead told Dean that they could leave early if necessary. It had only managed to make Dean feel even worse. 

_ “It’s fine, really. I’m way too competitive for this stuff anyway. I’d probably just end up raging out because half of it’s rigged.”  _

_ “...It isn’t rigged…” _

_ “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cas.”  _

They’d eaten in relative silence, Cas only stopping to make fun of Dean for somehow managing to get pizza sauce on his forehead, Dean scowling until he couldn’t help but laugh too. He’d blushed when Cas wiped it away with his napkin, gentle and careful, and Dean could’ve said it right then. It would’ve made sense, the same way romcoms make sense, but he just couldn’t do it. Not in front of so many people, even when he knew none of them were looking at him. Even when he knew most of them probably assumed they were already together because that seemed to be what  _ everyone  _ assumed these days. 

It still wasn’t enough to get Dean through the thick fog of fear and dread that clouded his mind; the idea that he’d tell Cas and he’d leave, or worse, look at him pityingly for the rest of time, until one or both of them died. 

So he’d cleared his throat and ignored the overwhelming feeling of adoration running through his veins, both of them finishing their meal and going back out to the arcade floor.

Dean had begrudgingly played a handful of games, Cas watching him the entire time, getting legitimately excited when Dean miraculously won the jackpot on two different games, back to back. He wasn’t sure what the odds of that were, but had to admit, it felt pretty fucking cool. 

Cas had made an off-handed comment about lucky charms, and how Dean definitely had to have one, it was the  _ only  _ logical explanation, given their line of work.

_ “It’s you.” _

The way he’d said it had been too earnest, not even the slightest bit joking, and yet despite feeling himself start to sweat, Cas had taken it in stride, laughing not at Dean but at himself. 

_ “I think that if I  _ were  _ lucky I would have more tickets. It took me 34 rounds of skee-ball just to get these.” _

_ “It’s because you’re playing the wrong games. Skee-ball is fun but it’s not big on tickets no matter how many points you rack up. You’ve gotta go for the ones that give you tickets every time, and ones that have the possibility of winning 500 or more. I’ll show you.” _

Dean had taken Cas’s hand easily, ready to guide him toward the other side of the arcade, but Cas hadn’t moved, keeping Dean back as well. Dean had panicked for a moment, about to drop their hands and apologize in a move that would’ve only further confused the situation because Cas only said

_ “I thought you didn’t like arcades.”  _

Dean had wanted to laugh, at both Cas’s suspicious tone of voice and at his own worry that he’d done something completely wrong. 

_ “Do you want more tickets or not?” _

They’d played for hours, Dean’s joints creaking by the time they finally made their way to the prize area.

Cas hadn’t agreed at first, but when Dean saw him eyeing the giant teddy bear on the very top shelf, limbs spilling over and down past the shelf below it and halfway to the next, he insisted that Cas take his tickets.

_ “Seriously, what am  _ I _ gonna get, Cas? A slingshot? I can make a better one in ten minutes.” _

_ “It just doesn’t seem fair… I didn’t earn these.”  _

_ “Never repeat these words back to me, but the bear is clearly the only thing worth getting here, and you need 3200 more tickets to get it. So either you take all of mine, or you go back out there. The choice is pretty simple to me, and may I remind you that we’ve been here for five hours and we’re not getting any younger.” _

Cas had glared at him for that, Dean only holding his hands up in surrender, knowing that if he was feeling the beginnings of knee pain, there was no doubt that Cas was as well. 

They returned to the car, the giant bear wedged between Dean and Cas in the front seat. They both smiled for what Dean assumed were two completely different reasons.

So after weeks of arcades, diners, and fast food, Dean isn’t prepared in the slightest for the curveball Cas throws him.

“A dress code? Where the hell are we going, Cas?” Dean asks, loud enough for Cas to hopefully hear him through the bathroom door. They’re at a random hotel just outside of Vegas, and yeah, Dean  _ knows  _ it’s  _ Vegas _ , but he mostly assumed they’d be hitting up the hotel/casino/all-you-can-eat buffet type establishments. He certainly didn’t think he was going to have to play dress-up for anyone. 

“I already told you, it’s a surprise. And it’s not a dress code so much as it is a dress  _ suggestion _ ,” Cas explains, opening the door and sticking his head out, “You don’t want to be the only one there in jeans and a flannel, do you?” 

“Maybe I do,” Dean responds, petulant and crossing his arms despite having every intention of putting on his suit. It  _ is  _ Cas’s turn, after all. 

“If you’re okay with some momentary extra attention, I certainly don’t mind,” Cas says. From anyone else it would sound like a threat, but Dean knows that Cas is dead serious. He would walk into the place with Dean at his side, dressed like ranch hand that got lost on I-15, and pretend like nothing was amiss. Dean rolls his eyes. 

“I’m already gonna  _ have _ extra attention. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I don’t fit in at places like this. I’ll be like the sorest of sore thumbs no matter what clothes you put me in.”

Dean doesn’t want to admit it, but maybe he actually  _ is  _ a little apprehensive in a completely serious, not joking kind of way. He doesn’t want to be embarrassed for not knowing basic dining etiquette, but more than anything, he doesn’t want Cas to be embarrassed by him. It’s the reason they’ve never gone anywhere nicer than an Outback Steakhouse, and Cas still asked for the kid’s menu there so he could color in the pictures. 

“I can promise that you’re not going to have to worry about judgment from anyone while you’re there. It’s going to be fun.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say.  _ You  _ know what’s going on…” 

Dean tugs at his tie for the entire car ride (an uber, against Dean’s instincts). The first few times result in his hand being batted away by Cas, but when he reaches up again, Cas takes his hand, bringing it down to his lap.

“You’re fidgeting,” Cas says, like Dean isn’t completely aware of the fact that he’s fidgeting. He  _ knows  _ he looks nervous, and he  _ knows  _ he has no real reason to be, but he can’t help it the whole thing feels very much like something that he can’t even afford to think about.

So he doesn’t. He does his best to turn his brain off for the rest of the drive, but the second they pull up in front of the restaurant he feels jittery again. The place  _ smells  _ expensive, and Dean is so off-balance that Cas has to thank their driver for both of them because Dean can hardly manage single syllables. Then it all comes out at once.

“You know, Cas, it’s not too late to change your mind. We could always walk down to a seafood buffet because… Nevada is so well-known for their seafood, you know.”

“Dean-”

“Or even McDonald’s. I’m not picky.”

“Dean. It’s going to be fine.”

He swallows audibly but allows himself to be led into the restaurant with a  _ doorman  _ out front _.  _ Cas does all the talking with the hostess while Dean’s ears are drowned with a ringing so loud he can’t be sure it’s just his ears. It isn’t until they stop walking that Dean looks around the room they’re in, doing double and triple takes until he can confirm his thoughts.

“There’s no one in here.” The hostess has departed, and Cas is sitting like everything is completely normal.

“Sit down, Dean.” He does, but only because he doesn’t know what else to do. He looks around again one more time, just in case he missed something the first time.

“Why are we the only ones here, Cas?” Dean asks, even though he thinks he knows the answer. Cas’s words from before float back into his thoughts as he pieces it all together. To his credit, Cas actually looks a little flustered, giving a nervous smile as he taps his fingers on the table.

“I knew that you wouldn’t enjoy this experience if you knew other people could see you, and I was obviously right-”

“So you rented out an entire restaurant?! What the hell, Cas?”

“No, that would be ridiculous. I just rented out this dining room in particular. The rest of the restaurant is open to the public.” 

And Dean knows his face looks ridiculous, he knows that he can’t even begin to school his features because he’s not even sure any of this is actually happening. 

“You had to have made this reservation weeks ago,” Dean says in wonder, but when Cas doesn’t confirm or deny, he looks into his eyes.

“When did you make the reservation?” Cas picks at the skin around one of his nails.

“The beginning of March.”

“Cas!-” 

“It had to be done early. Usually the rented rooms are reserved for important people.” Dean looks around again, finally noticing the single candle in the center of their table, lit and flickering every time one of them breathes out. His heart clenches as he dares to think  _ Cas did this for  _ me.  _ Cas did this because he  _ loves  _ me.  _

He only allows it for a moment, just long enough to make his stomach flip, and then he shuts it down and prepares himself to speak, hoping his voice isn’t too wobbly.

“So the ‘spontaneous Vegas trip’? That was all a ruse? Why Vegas?” Dean asks, too many questions at once, and about a dozen more still living on the tip of his tongue, but he ends it there. 

“It needed to be ‘spontaneous’ or you would suspect something. It wasn’t a ruse; it was a surprise. And you love Vegas. You told me once,” Cas says, completely level-headed for a man who just admitted to renting out a whole restaurant dining room two and a half months in advance, for just the two of them. 

“Why?” It’s the only word left in his brain, and Dean desperately hopes that it doesn’t sound ungrateful or annoyed because it’s the last thing he wants. Cas just tilts his head to the side.

“You got me that mug,” he says plainly. Dean is pretty sure his brain finally starts short-circuiting.

“The mug? From Starbucks? That cost like $15 and I bought on a whim? That’s the one you’re talking about?” 

“I really like it. It’s my favorite one and I don’t like using any of the others. It’s something I use every day. It’s important to me,” Cas says, shrugging and giving the tiniest smile Dean’s ever seen on him. It’s never been more difficult to keep himself together; to not just lean across the table and kiss him. He nearly chokes and plays it off as a laugh.

“Yeah, this is just a slight escalation, you know. If someone buys you a mug, the obvious next move is to rent out a private room in a fancy restaurant. At this rate, my next gift for you is gonna be the international space station.” Before Cas can respond to that with a dry, factual ‘You could never purchase that, Dean,’ their waitress arrives with menus and a bottle of champagne on ice. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says, filling two champagne flutes halfway before returning the bottle to the metal bucket and leaving it at the edge of the table. They both give jumbled responses, laughing, and yeah, Dean might feel a little embarrassed, but he’s never felt so warm.

“Anniversary?” she asks, casual and not at all uncomfortable. Dean can feel his chest tighten. It’s never happened while they’re together, the ‘being mistaken for a couple’ thing, and Dean is ready to turn out the company line, say that they’re just friends, but Cas opens his mouth first. 

“Just a night out,” he says, maintaining eye contact as he speaks to her, not even daring to look in Dean’s direction. His stomach flips again.

It isn’t a lie, necessarily, but it also doesn’t deny a relationship between the two of them and the implications run loose in Dean’s head. Their waitress looks like she might start crying right at their table. 

“That is so romantic. Grand gestures ‘just because’ are my weak spot,” she says, smiling and clearly holding back tears for a moment, until she pulls herself together, “Sorry, it’s really none of my business, but you both look really happy… Take a look at the menu and I’ll be back in a minute,” she says, departing and closing the door behind her.

The candle continues to flicker, and instead of saying a word to each other, Dean and Cas keep their heads buried in their menus until their waitress returns.

The meal is on the slightly tenser side of average. Dean still enjoys everything about the experience, but the elephant in the room that only Dean’s been able to see for months is now visible to Cas as well. And Cas is unreadable. 

If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was unaffected, but the tiny uptick of his eyebrows lets Dean know that that isn’t the case.

He spends the rest of the night trying to decode that single facial expression instead of just asking about it. 

When they return to their hotel room, tired and just a little tipsy, the walls start to close in and Dean feels like he has to be as close to Cas as possible. Instead, he changes out of his clothes and falls into his bed, turning to face the wall so Cas doesn’t try to talk to him. He doesn’t.

Eventually, the bathroom light turns off and so does Cas’s bedside lamp, plunging them into almost complete darkness, nothing but a few strands of light filtering through the curtains from the street. Cas doesn’t even try to say goodnight, and before he can help it, Dean starts feeling guilty, like he should’ve tried initiating a conversation to show Cas everything was still okay. They were still normal and could go on with their lives like the interaction with the waitress never happened. 

But Dean doesn’t want that. He wants to acknowledge it and ask what it means that Cas didn’t deny anything, or why they haven’t spoken since leaving the restaurant.

But more than anything…  _ Was this a date?  _

It feels stupid to even think about. Anyone with eyes would look at them and say that yes, it 100% was a date. If it were another couple and Dean were the outsider he wouldn’t even think twice about it. It would be obvious for the world to see, and yet...

Dean swallows again, harder this time to combat the feeling of his throat closing up. It would be so easy. He could ask and it would all be over with; nothing vague or implied or unanswered. 

_ Was this a date?  _

He opens his mouth, still facing the wall. 

“Cas?” he asks. When he hears no response, not even a rustling of sheets, he speaks a little louder. “ _ Cas _ ?” 

When he rolls over he sees him, Cas’s chest moving up and down rhythmically, his eyes closed. 

“How are you sleeping right now?” Dean whispers, his chest tightening even more.

When he finally falls asleep, the sun is just beginning to rise.


	6. +1. The Florist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Vegas trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry i kept y'all waiting for like three months. i could not find motivation after that finale :/ but i did manage to do it! and i hope it's decent

_ “I don’t understand it,” Cas said. Throughout the course of the movie, he had managed to migrate all the way to the center of the bed, Dean still where he was when they started, but completely flush against Cas’s side. It happened pretty much every time they were in Dean’s room together now, and every time Dean would be cautious to not push up against Cas too much, at first to maintain some sense of space between them, but it had slowly become fear that Cas would interpret it as Dean pushing him back to his side. Pushing him away.  _

_ So he just sat there, feeling like every spot Cas touched was a live current running through them.  _

_ Dean had paused the movie, never knowing if these side conversations were going to be a small exchanging of words or a full-blown philosophical tangent on Cas’s part that would eat up the ending of the movie, which was almost always the best part.  _

_ “What’s not to understand?” Dean asked, looking back at the screen for anything that was particularly dated or even obsolete in the 21st century. Cas may have been older than the world itself, but that doesn’t mean he has a complete understanding of the intricacies of human invention. He was baffled by Tamagotchi, and Dean wasn’t even sure how they had managed to land on that particular topic of conversation. Dean had never even seen a Tamagotchi in real life.  _

_ “Why do humans go to such lengths to court each other? I imagine it would be a lot easier to just be forthcoming and state your intentions clearly,” Cas said, still squinting at the TV screen despite the frozen image. Dean had wanted to laugh at how pragmatic it had all sounded; at the way Cas looked more and more human every day, but still struggled to grasp the most prevalent cliches they’ve built and perfected over the decades. _

_ “Yeah, saying it is easier, but anyone can  _ say  _ something, Cas.” _

_ “Yes, that’s why it would be the most effective way of expressing interest.” _

_ Dean had thought about that for longer than just a few seconds, staring blankly at the wall until Cas had brought him back to earth with nothing more than his voice calling out Dean’s name.  _

\---

When they wake up, the air is thick with a dialed-down, simmering tension. It doesn’t suffocate Dean the way he’d worried about all night, but that almost makes it worse, like the previous night had all been in Dean’s head. For all he knows, it might have been. With no confirmation of what it all meant to Cas, Dean is stuck with nothing but his own loud thoughts, fast approaching a level of desperation he didn’t know he was capable of.

They both stand and take steps toward the bathroom door, and they shuffle around each other like strangers on the street, awkwardly insisting that the other go first until Dean finally takes a step back and motions for Cas to go in. 

Cas takes an unreasonably long shower. It’s something he’s adopted ever since showers became an inconvenient necessity for him.  _ “The water is nice. If I must bathe I think the experience should at least be enjoyable,”  _ he’d said after Dean complained about him using all of the hot water at a particularly run-down motel. When they’re at the bunker, where the hot water supply is all but endless, Cas’s showers hit the 45-minute mark on a regular basis, often using 90% of his time to do nothing but stand under the scalding-hot spray. 

Dean had been extra careful not to dwell on the visuals that had conjured up in his head, quietly stowing them away in a lock box he had never planned to open. 

But now he’s in an expensive hotel room, only one door separating the two of them and it’s like that box doesn’t even exist anymore, all of his thoughts loud and insistent against his will. He’s not even sure a loss of consciousness would be enough to shut his brain up at this point. If anything, his subconscious is probably even worse, flipping through every image of Cas it’s managed to compile in the last twelve years, ad infinitum. 

Dean’s shower is shorter than Cas’s, but longer than normal for him. And yeah, maybe it’s cowardly to just stand in the closed-off stall, thinking about everything that he could say, whispering to fogged glass instead of the man ten feet away from him. Maybe it’s ridiculous to have faced such monumental, world-ending fears, but to be stymied by a simple conversation. 

But it isn’t simple. And thinking it ever could be would only continue to look past all of the problems they’ve ignored for years.

When Dean exits the shower he packs up his things in silence.

\---

The entire drive back home is drowned out by music. Dean even turns on the radio in between swapping tapes so that the quiet never gets the chance to settle in their bones. But the radio is mostly static, especially when they’re in the middle of nowhere or nearing state lines. The garbled crash and hiss is jarring, and Dean can see the way it makes Cas flinch every time, but he never thinks to warn him and he never even utters a pathetic little ‘sorry’. 

When they stop at a roadside diner to eat, nobody assumes they’re a couple. Dean lets himself believe it’s because they’re in redneck territory, and not because they look like two people who barely know each other. Cas stares at his phone with intent, and Dean stares at him, both hoping for and dreading the possibility of being caught. Cas types furiously until the second their food is set on the table, forehead creased more intensely than Dean’s ever seen from him, leaving an impression even when he relaxes his face to say thank you to their waitress. 

It’s nothing more than an indication of age; that they’re both getting older every single day. It makes the silence feel that much worse, like grains of sand flowing through the fine mesh of a sieve. It feels like it won’t be long until they have nothing left. 

Back at the bunker, Cas doesn’t follow Dean to his room. It’s only in the absence, in seeing him continue down the hallway, that Dean comes to realize just how normal it had become for them to spend nearly every waking hour in each others’ presence. Even if much of it was in relative silence, watching movies or listening to music that Dean would later over-explain, the emptiness Cas leaves behind is more than just a little noticeable. Dean can almost feel his eye being physically drawn to Cas’s side of the bed, so far gone that he doesn’t even try to stop himself from calling it Cas’s side of the bed. It’s  _ his  _ movie marathon spot. His late-night mixtape listening spot. His accidental-nap-turned-full-eight-hours spot. 

Dean goes to sleep on one side of the bed, just in case. When he wakes up, the other side is still vacant, to his disappointment, but not surprise. 

Dean tries his hardest to make things go back to the way they were before. Whether he means before the Vegas trip or before  _ all of it  _ remains unanswered, to everyone including himself. 

But it doesn’t work.

They don’t actively avoid each other, and they even start speaking again once they’re around Sam and Eileen, but the air is different and he’s sure everyone knows. The movie marathons are a thing of the past, but Dean expected as much, at least for a few days until they refind their footing. But he doesn’t expect Cas to stop helping him with breakfast in the morning, or to stop asking for rides to the coffee shop, or to stop just sitting beside him. 

Just like that, all of  _ their  _ things now only belong to Dean, and when they’re with other people, it’s like the last few months didn’t even happen. Like they weren’t basically dating this whole time. 

The way he so easily acknowledges that now is all the proof he needs of what a number this situation has done on his head.

And the most infuriating part is that he  _ knows _ that Sam has noticed. Their whole lives have had Dean desperately trying to avoid going into the specifics of things like this, knowing that nothing good could come of loving someone this much; that it would do a lot better locked up in a vault where it couldn’t distract him from the job he needed to do.

And yet, without a doubt, Sam was always there to bug him about it anyway. So his silence on the matter is only that much more obvious, especially since it’s the one time Dean kinda  _ wants  _ to talk to someone about it. 

But he can’t bridge that gap without someone doing it for him. He’s tried but the words get caught at the bottom of his throat the second Cas’s name so much as crosses his mind, which is  _ very  _ often. He shifts between wanting to acknowledge and wanting to keep everything hidden so frequently and so fast it gives him whiplash, his thoughts and memories blurring together until they’re no longer distinguishable from each other; just  _ Cas  _ and nothing else. 

It doesn’t help that Cas and Eileen have taken to becoming best friends in the last few days. 

Almost as soon as they got back, Cas had gravitated toward Eileen and started signing like he would die if he didn’t get all of his words out in record time. Though it’s quick and confident, the movements are also small and hidden, as if Dean would be able to understand them regardless. He’s been practicing, but he and Sam are nowhere near their level. 

Still, they stop whenever one of them spots him, and Dean wants to be angry for being left in this position to figure everything out by himself. But eventually, he stops that line of thinking and can only wonder if he misinterpreted everything. He’s not so arrogant as to think that that’s out of the realm of possibility, even if the last, small logical part of his brain left tells him it’s unlikely. 

But Cas is newer to all of this than Dean is. Maybe he didn’t know how his actions were being perceived until it was pointed out in simple words by a waitress who had only seen them for about a minute total before deciding they were definitely a couple. And not only a couple, but one that’s been together long enough to be celebrating an important anniversary. 

Maybe that was the wakeup call; the realization that everything they were doing was too closely aligned with the people in the romantic comedies they’d watched together. And now Dean kind of feels bad for not saying something sooner, before they could embarrass themselves in front of a complete stranger. 

But Dean had  _ liked _ it, against all of his better judgment, and he selfishly didn’t want it to stop. On some level, he knew Cas had to feel the same way. He at least had to know what he was doing when he made those reservations. 

The logic doesn’t make him feel any less insecure. 

\---

_ “Well, just because someone says something doesn’t mean it’s true. People lie. All the time,” Dean said, looking at Cas but unable to hold eye contact for longer than a second, feeling like he was burning up from the inside.  _

_ “So where do all the gestures come in? Could those not also be lies?” Cas asked, completely unaware that he was asking the wrong guy. Dean had never been the ‘grand gesture’ type. He’d never had the means to be the ‘grand gesture’ type, never having enough money or time, never staying in one place for long enough to warrant something that required actual planning.  _

_ All he knew was what he saw in the movies.  _

_ “Yeah, they could be lies, but they’d be a lot more elaborate lies. Sometimes expensive lies. There aren’t many people in the world who would go through that much effort for someone they didn’t… want to be with,” he explained, but still dodging the one word they were both skirting around. Cas only looks at him like the words still don’t quite sit right, but he doesn’t know what else to ask.  _

_ “Think about it this way: the time it takes to pull off something big shows how serious you are. It’s not something you can do in just a day. The thought is what shows you’re telling the truth about how you feel.”  _

_ Dean felt winded after the explanation, like he hadn’t taken a single breath the entire time, rambling because if he didn’t, he knew he wouldn’t be able to say it at all.  _

_ Because despite never being the ‘grand gesture’ type, he couldn’t help but feel like the conversation was giving him away. His deep breath at the end of it felt like exposure to a dangerous path.  _

_ “But what if the person was someone who wasn’t typically open with their words? Wouldn’t they then mean a great deal in that situation?” Cas questioned, like a fist to Dean’s stomach. Because they weren’t talking about him, he knew that, but that exposed feeling had only managed to work its way deeper under Dean’s skin.  _

_ “I guess it would all depend on individual circumstances. Believe it or not, I don’t actually have all the answers, Cas,” he’d laughed, hoping to break up the intensity that had crawled in beside them, creeping up Dean’s spine until it wrapped around him like a python.  _

_ “No, I suppose not,” was all Cas said before taking the remote from Dean’s sweaty hand, pressing play and keeping his eyes on the screen for the remainder of the movie.  _

\---

Even Sam has his limits, apparently, because only a day later he corners Dean in the kitchen when he’s making his first pot of coffee at noon. 

“What did you do?” he asks, barely accusatory and mostly tired. Dean doesn’t even have enough energy to feign ignorance. 

“Why does it have to be me who did something? Sometimes I don’t do anything,” Dean says, tapping on the counter in a way that makes him seem as anxious as he is, but he can’t stop.

“Yeah, and sometimes that’s the problem.” The response is pointed enough to make Dean narrow his eyes.

“What do you know?” Dean comes down, because he’s not gonna pour his heart out like an idiot when his brother already has a rundown of the situation. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Nothing, I swear. Eileen won’t tell me anything, and she shouldn’t have to. So what did you do?” 

Dean thinks on that for just a moment. 

“Okay, there may have been a misunderstanding, but that’s it. It’s no big deal,” he says, pouring his coffee slower than he ever has, just so he has something else to focus on for a few seconds. Sam looks at him incredulously. Dean isn’t looking at him, but he knows his brother. 

“Are we still pretending you’re not in love with him?”

Dean shakes so hard he nearly sends the boiling liquid over the edge of his cup and onto his hands. 

“Will you shut up?” he demands in a hushed voice, looking around and fully expecting Cas to be standing in the doorway having heard everything they just said. 

“Dean, I know how smart you are, which is why it’s so hard to believe you’re acting this stupid right now.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know that Cas loves you, even if you’re too stubborn to see it for yourself.”

A sweat breaks out on Dean’s forehead and the back of his neck, and his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth. He must be allergic to this conversation, but still, curiosity gets the better of him.

“He told you that?” he asks, unwilling to embrace hope without something concrete. He’s made that mistake too many times to not have learned from it by now. Sam looks resigned, which is all Dean needs to know that the answer is ‘no.’ 

“I have eyes,” Sam says, but that isn’t enough for Dean to run into Cas’s room and declare his undying love for him. 

Even still, Dean knows that he has to do  _ something _ to try and fix all of this, even if it doesn’t end with them falling deeply in love with each other for the rest of time. Though he already knows any alternative is gonna hurt like a bitch. 

\---

Dean plans a date - a real date - for the first time in his life. The planning is required because Dean needs an out if it all goes wrong, though he’s found it hard to predict all the possible ways things could go sideways. In the past, his biggest problems have always been something he hadn’t even thought to account for. 

It feels a little pathetic. He can’t stop drawing lines between himself and their cheesy 80s movies, needing to show Cas that he cares just as much, and that he can prove it, but feeling trapped in ideas that don’t feel genuine to who he is. He has no idea how Cas did it. 

He makes lists and spreadsheets and phone calls, sorting out more fine details than he thinks he ever has in his life. He spends a whole day just brainstorming before he remembers that he and Cas have to at least be on speaking terms for any of this to even happen.

So Dean knocks on his door, unaware of where exactly the confidence has come from when he’s spent the past week wallowing in doubt and insecurity. The knocks are still tentative, three little taps that he’s not even sure Cas can hear, but a few seconds later the door opens up, and there he is, slightly disheveled and unshaven and the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen. 

He wants to punch himself for even thinking it, but the warmth he feels from just making eye contact with Cas quickly swallows that shame. 

“Dean,” he says, voice slightly rougher sounding than normal, and Dean is seconds away from apologizing, for what he isn’t exactly sure, but he wants to beg for it regardless. He somehow manages to clear his head and keep his goal in the forefront. 

“Wanna go for a drive? We could stop for hot chocolate. We haven’t gone in a while,” He rambles, voice shaky like it was when he was a teenager who didn’t know how to talk to girls. He has no idea how he’s going to ask the guy on a date without passing out. His pulse pounds in his ears, and though Cas doesn’t quite smile, he still says ‘sure,’ and grabs his mug from his desk, the heart confetti moving through the handle. 

It’s the best sign Dean’s gotten since Vegas. 

When they go, Cas still doesn’t speak much. He gives a stiff ‘thank you’ when Dean holds the door open for him, and he makes small talk with Vanessa, but when they sit down he sips his drink quietly. Dean burns his tongue and has to stop himself from cursing loudly, tucking his tongue up against the roof of his mouth instead. 

Too quickly, they’re done with their drinks and making their way out of the shop, Cas still managing a smile at Vanessa as he waves goodbye. They get into the car and Dean feels like they aren’t any closer to reconciliation than they were an hour ago, and Dean can’t stop feeling like it’s his fault even though they’re both adding to the stagnancy equally. 

They’re driving down Main, Dean feeling like he’s never going to dig himself out of this hole they’ve lost themselves in when Cas says “Flowers.”

It sounds mindless, like he didn’t mean to say it aloud at all, merely lost in his own thoughts. When Dean looks over, he sees what Cas is focused on. It’s a little roadside stand selling potted plants, most of them vibrant, colorful flowers in full bloom. 

Dean doesn’t think twice before he’s pulling up to the sidewalk. 

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, and there are so many things Dean could say to that, but he refrains from all of them.

“You like flowers,” he says like it answers everything, because it does. He knows that and he thinks he has for a while now. Cas looks at him with a face Dean can’t even begin to describe before nodding his head and getting out of the car. 

At first, they walk side by side, slow and cautious and never touching, but before long Cas is off to the far side of the display, looking at a dotted flower pot with bunches of tiny purple blossoms inside. When Cas puts his nose to the flowers, Dean can’t help but smile at his bewildered expression, watching him move to a different plant like a bee searching for nectar. 

“Your boy likes flowers,” the owner of the stand observes. He’s an older man, and he looks a little uncertain, his forehead creased like he’s not sure he’s correct in his assumption or if he’s using the right words. Dean almost laughs at how familiar that feels. 

It’s a nanoscopic window of time, one where Dean’s instincts would normally kick in, for him to deny Cas being his  _ anything _ . But now he can’t stop smiling. There’s not a single glimmer of discomfort in him, his body instead thrumming with excitement. He  _ loves  _ that strangers look at them and see love because that’s what it is, and Dean knows it for sure. He’s never been more confident about anything. 

So he clears his throat of the thin, teary voice that’s building up and says “Yeah, we’re not leaving here without at least three of them, guaranteed.”

“Well, you won’t hear me complaining about that.” 

Dean laughs, so light and airy and carefree in a way that he hasn’t sounded since he was at least thirty years younger. Probably even longer than that. 

Dean looks at him again and he can’t help it. 

Dean walks up behind Cas, not trying to sneak up on him, but he’s so taken by the soft, bright petals that he doesn’t notice Dean at all until he starts speaking.

“Find anything you like?” he asks, watching as Cas nearly jumps out of his skin, thankfully no longer holding a flower pot that would definitely be in pieces on the ground right now. 

“Dean.”

“Yeah, who else?” he asks, smiling so wide it almost hurts. And he knows that they have so much to talk about before they can go back to anything, that they’re definitely not on the same page at this particular second, but Dean is practically wading in all of the love he’s feeling and he can barely stand it. He feels like he might explode if he doesn’t say something right now. 

“I like this one a lot,” Cas says, his gentle touch falling atop the apex of the plant for just a moment. “It attracts bees  _ and  _ butterflies, and I’ve heard they’re pretty conducive to cutting so I’d be able to propagate it easily and start a flower bed.”

“That smells like dessert,” is the only thing Dean can think to say. He knows jack about flowers, but he does know when things smell like cherry pie and he thinks it’s pretty cool that a flower is doing that right now. Dean might be hallucinating, but he thinks he sees the faintest flush of color on the apples of Cas’s cheeks. 

“I thought you would appreciate that. It actually reminded me of you.”

Dean is pretty sure he blacks out for a second or two because the next thing he knows, his lips are on Cas’s. The clouds in Dean’s mind clear enough for him to feel bad about just diving without warning or asking, but just as he thinks about separating from him, Cas pulls him back in, both hands at the back of Dean’s neck.

He tugs at Cas’s hips, trying to get him as close as humanly possible, but even that doesn’t feel close enough for how desperate he is. When they finally pull away, Cas’s eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. He brings a hand up to his mouth, just like in the girls in the movies, Dean mirroring him until they both look the same; two adult men standing amongst the flowers, equal parts shock and elation painted over their faces. Dean manages to snap out of their trance first, tries to play it cool when he can feel himself starting to sweat again. 

It’s not what Dean had planned at all, but he supposes they’ve never really done things in order. He clears his throat for what feels like the hundredth time today. 

“Get whatever you want, Cas. But don’t think that this makes us square. I’m still planning a date, and you’re not allowed to do anything big before that happens,” he says, still jittery and nervous about Cas’s reaction even despite everything that has just unfolded before them.

“You’re planning a date? For us?” Cas asks, and Dean doesn’t blame him for the awe in his voice. He can hardly believe how easily the words came out of his own mouth. 

“Yeah, and I’m totally gonna one-up yours,” he asserts, even though he definitely can’t guarantee that. He wasn’t even sure he would ever get this far, as ridiculous as that sounds now. 

“Well, I’ll be looking forward to anything that we do together,” Cas says, taking Dean’s hand in his. Dean never thought entwined fingers could make him so weak in the knees. 

Cas  _ does _ get three plants, already making plans for more that could quickly turn into a little makeshift garden. At the register, there’s a milk jug full of single roses , and despite his full hands, Dean still manages to grab one, tucking into Cas’s shirt pocket before paying. 

When they’re in the car, Dean leans over and kisses Cas’s cheek, smiling into his skin because he can, and he’s going to do it every chance he gets. 

The next time someone calls Cas his husband, Dean starts planning a proposal. 

And the time after that, his smile is reflected in the matching rings on their fingers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finishing this has boosted my morale x100 so if there's interest, i might write a little married life epilogue that i thought of while writing the previous chapter <3


End file.
